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by sweetrupturedlight
Summary: Prompt from anonymous on Tumblr. Aramis returns from war in Spain and sees the Queen and the Dauphin for the first time in over three years


Riding onto the grounds of the Louvre, Aramis was struck by how much had remained fairly unchanged on the palatial estate. Immaculately manicured lawns, fountains, birds chirping in the gardens, the sun glinting off marble statues, the white blinding to his eyes. Here there seemed to be no evidence of the war that had been waged. Everything remained, as always, perfect. Or perhaps it was like most things, only a façade, the beauty on the outside masking the fractures within.

To him, to his brotherhood, their world was forever altered after witnessing the horrors of war. While France had secured their might over Spain, it had come at great cost to many. Gratefully, he rode beside his comrades – Athos, Captain of the Musketeers, D'artagnan, no longer the green soldier he had once been, and Porthos, his best friend. But many others were not as lucky. Many had lost friends and lovers, husbands, fathers and sons.

It was almost three and a half years since the day he left the palace for Douai. He had imagined a completely different life back then, a completely different set of values and priorities. But God had showed him that he was needed elsewhere - in battle - beside his brothers, fighting a different kind of conflict to protect the ones he loved. Loved ones who resided upon these very grounds.

Today the King's Musketeers returned to Paris in a lavish procession. They had secured the win for France and under the leadership of the Minister for War, they entered the streets of Paris to the cheers and adoration of its people. It was impossible not to cast off some of the darkness of battle. Seeing the delighted faces of children, the thankful expressions of men and women who lay flowers on the ground where their horses were to pass, Aramis felt grateful to be alive.

For the first time in a very long time, he had a carefree smile on his face, his person light and unencumbered by the frantic race for survival that had become a daily toil. It felt foreign, this lightness, especially since he couldn't quite remember the feeling. It seemed a lifetime ago when the luxury of wasted smiles and genuine laughter had been his reality. Taking in the sights, sounds and smells, he relaxed. He had come home.

The parade was long and hot but he didn't mind. The people who came to see them didn't mind, so he had no right to complain. But soon the bustle of the Parisian streets was left behind as they halted in the Palace courtyard. Leading their procession was their Captain, Athos, and Minister Treville. On the balcony above their parade, the King lorded over them on the marble platform, dressed in an elaborate gold brocade version of military wear. His Majesty was a sight to behold, if somewhat absurd. The sidelong look that Porthos sent him confirmed that he was not alone in thinking it.

Bowing his head in benevolent regard, Aramis felt tension creep into his shoulders. Tightening his jaw, he kept his gaze focused and steady. Already he had the urge to sweep his eyes around the periphery, knowing that _she_ should be – would be – attending the arrival parade. His chest constricted but he refused to think on it. God knew he had done enough of it in almost four years.

Beneath his uniform, he felt the prick of the crucifix that rested there, burning against his skin. It was the one tangible reminder of all that had passed between them. For the few who had knowledge of what had happened so long ago, the scandal was now lost in the chaos of war. No one would ever again whisper of the Queen and a Musketeer. He had nothing left but his life, his honour, his oath and his memories.

"Musketeers," the King began from the balcony above. "I am delighted to welcome you home. Long has your brethren fought to keep this country safe from foreign invaders. And once again, you have emerged from battle victorious. It is indeed a joyous day and I welcome you to enjoy the festivities planned in your honour. Tonight we feast in your names. Come, let us celebrate!"

A chorus of cheers erupted all around him as Musketeers hooted their approval. The King, awkward as always, smiled down at them like a child, pleased by their response. Against his better judgment, Aramis looked around then, but she was nowhere to be seen. There were courtiers, dignitaries and nobles, but the Queen was conspicuously absent.

Relief and disappointment were both palpable emotions and he felt both with equal measure. Perhaps he would be able to pass this day without a haunting reminder of what he tried so hard to forget.

Aramis dismounted and followed the throng of Musketeers into the palace gardens. There were musicians playing, colourful mimes and various entertainers. The smell of food was everywhere and drink flowed freely. Aramis felt his mouth water and spotted Porthos ahead, about to follow him.

But a tug at his arm halted his progress. Turning, he stared into the blue eyes of Constance. Without thought, he swept her into his arms, spinning her around, truly happy to see her. Her surprised – if delighted – laughter followed thereafter.

"Put me down you rogue!" she admonished. But her arms wrapped around him, hugging tightly.

"Now I know that I am home for the most beautiful woman in Paris is in my arms." Aramis placed a hearty kiss on her cheek before letting go. "You are a balm for a battered soul Madame."

Constance rolled her eyes at him. "I see your charm is unaffected by recent events."

"A man does what he must." He bowed in jest. "I do believe your husband is among the rabble somewhere."

"I have seen him, yes. But I came to find you. Would you walk with me for a moment?"

Aramis frowned but followed Constance and she walked along a pebbled path. The sun shone brightly and he settled his hat back upon his head, shielding his eyes from the harsh light. The pleasure of walking, having the time for it, would never be lost on him again.

"How have you been?" she enquired.

"As good as can be expected. Glad its over," he said with a grim smile. Beneath their feet gravel crunched, the sound becoming louder the further they moved from the party.

"If I managed to get word from D'artagnan once every few months I was lucky. I do not recall a more stressful time."

"Believe me, to have a married man in our midst, yearning for his wife's company was agony," he teased.

Constance pulled a face and he smiled at her, happy to be in her company once more. The passing years had been kind to her, but like most of them, war – fighting it or living through it – had a way of aging the soul. Despite her beauty, Aramis could see the toll it had had on her spirit.

"How is he?" she asked. "Truly?"

Aramis shrugged. "He is a soldier, one with great heart. None of us can unsee what we saw, nor take back what we have done. But we try to move forward and put this unfortunate campaign behind us."

Constance nodded. He wanted to enquire about _her_, about _them_, but he pressed his lips together. It would do him no good. They reached a row of hedges, higher now, blocking out the echoes of celebration.

"Do you wish to have your wicked way with me?" he teased. Constance threw an indelicate snort over her shoulder but stopped before taking the next turn.

"A few moments of your time. That is all."

Again Aramis frowned but took the corner, his worldview narrowing to the picture in front of him.

He stood in a secluded garden, the hedges high, the centre adorned with a bubbling fountain. Because of the angle of the sun, the area was mostly shaded, the grass green, manicured and lush. Ahead a little boy played with the water in the fountain, bent over the edge as he raised himself on his toes to get closer. He was tall, slim, with a thick head of dark brown hair that rested close to his shoulders.

Aramis felt his heart bolt like a horse spooked and looked at Constance with wide, questioning eyes. She smiled, a little tense, but nodded, prodding him forward. But he was immobile. His eyes swung back to the boy, rooted to the spot, afraid that any sound would either scare the child or prove this another in a long line of fantastical dreams.

From the corner of his eye, Aramis caught movement and quickly turned. He must have made a sound because the boy turned and saw him too. But he was not who the child recognised.

"Mama!" he cried, running towards the Queen. _Anne_.

Aramis felt his palms begin to sweat and slowly removed his gloves and hat, walking slowly towards the duo. The grove was empty, except for Constance who waited on the other side of the hedgerow. He fought an internal battle with himself – his heart pushing him forward, his head holding him back.

Catching the boy in her arms with the laughter of a doting mother, the Queen held him close as the child put his arms around her neck. The sight of them together was almost too much to bear, too cruel for words. They were what he dreamed of and they were what he could never have. It seemed that God was not done with him after all.

"Monsieur Aramis," the Queen began. _God, she was more beautiful than he remembered_. The mere sight of her was a relief to his tattered soul. "You have returned from battle." Her voice was courteous, perfectly appropriate, were it not coupled with the look of unmistakable relief in her eyes.

"Your Majesty. We have just arrived." He bowed, keeping his gaze lowered. This was harder than he imagined it would be. Somehow, he had erroneously assumed that time apart would make this moment easier. He had been wrong.

"Yes. Yes I know." His eyes met hers briefly at her imploring tone, but he looked away. _It would not do to look at her._

"And all your friends Aramis, are safe and unharmed?"

"Thankfully. A few scrapes naturally," he added with a small roguish smile, "but alive and well." He scowled and schooled his features. It was too easy to forget himself with her.

Seeing them together, the resemblance between the Queen and the Dauphin was unmistakable. He favoured his mother completely, especially in the deep blue of his eyes. How many times had he wondered what his son would _look_ like? How many times had he wondered what he would _be_ like?

"Meet my son, Aramis," she said into the silence. "He is a little older now than when you last met."

The boy looked at him with unreserved curiosity. He had an open face, a smiling, happy one. Something inside of him eased. His son was happy. That was a consolation. _Painful_, but one nonetheless.

"This, is one of the King's Musketeers," Anne told him. "_Your_ Musketeer."

"Like in the story?" he asked excitedly, his broad smile revealing small, perfect teeth.

"Sí, cariño, like in the story." Anne smiled down at him with such pride.

"The story?" Aramis asked, unable to stop the need to have this child _see_ him.

The little boy nodded energetically, wiggling out of Anne's arms. Without reservation he came towards Aramis. He looked every inch the Dauphin of France in a blue doublet with a rounded waist, a white shirt and little petticoat breeches. And yet, the untamable hair, the sparkle in his eyes and the broad, mischievous grin in his face was all Musketeer. Aramis swelled with pride he had no right to feel.

"In Mama's story, the Musketeers are brave and they have pistols and go on adventures and they save the Queen." It was one run on sentence, with tiny hands gesturing as he spoke. "And they ride horses," the boy finished.

Aramis was charmed as he hunched down so that they might be on eye level.

"You like horses?" The Dauphin nodded heartily and Aramis reached out, touching his soft, unruly hair. Overwhelming love, pride and protectiveness flooded him.

"Do you have a horse Monsieur?" When Aramis replied, the Dauphin's eyes widened and he asked expectantly, "May I ride your horse?"

With a sad heart, Aramis forced a smile to his lips. "Perhaps someday."

Behind them, Constance approached and distracted, he ran towards her. Aramis watched him go, his zeal for life unmistakable. He turned back to Anne and rose to his feet. She had a small smile on her lips. Like his own, it held a whisper of sadness.

"I thought it best to…" she indicated towards the Dauphin. "With the current festivities, it might be the only time I can arrange it as conveniently."

"Why? It's dangerous-"

"It is important," she said, interrupting him. "For you. And for him. Even though he will never know."

He did not know whether to thank her or curse her. His heart was so full – a little grateful, a little angry at the yearning it reawakened within him.

"I prayed that you might return safe," she whispered. "Things have been… difficult these past few years." He knew she referred to the King.

"I thought it might be better between you and His Majesty. After I left…" He shrugged.

"It improved for a time…" Anne smiled bravely. "But Louis and I were never suited and it did not take long for him to revert to his old behaviours." She breathed deeply. "He has taken another mistress. The latest in a series of mistresses. I never pleased him."

"He is a fool." The words were out and he could not take them back. Aramis was sure he heard her gasp, her eyes beseeching. "I am sorry."

"Don't be. This is my life." She stepped closer and he felt his mouth water, his nerves prick. "Is it not?"

"Your Majesty…" It was Constance and it was time to go. Aramis bowed, holding back on all the things he felt but was unable to say.

"Will you return to the monastery?" she asked as he turned to go, the words an impulsive rush.

He shook his head. "I have been in purgatory and seen the face of hell. As far as penance goes, I think God will be satisfied."

Anne nodded, her relief evident. "Perhaps one day a Musketeer might accompany the Dauphin on his ride. He loves horses." She swept past him but stopped at his back. "Welcome home, Aramis."

He watched her walk away before he could respond, watched his son run to her, placing his little hand in her own as they rushed side by side. As they stepped out of the shadows and into the light, Aramis noticed for the first time that the blue of the Dauphin's doublet was the exact shade of his sash – Musketeer blue.

The boy turned back and waved, flashing him a broad smile. The memory of the moment was one he already knew he would carry with him forever.


End file.
